


My Feral

by PrinceNux



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: Furiosa is a kick ass eight year old and smarter than Slit and Nux and Max combined, He is just fodder for manpain and to move the story forward because I enjoy hurting characters, Joe is dead so don't worry about him, M/M, Max drives a Volvo, Max may be gayer than he had originally thought, Slit owns a bakery and it is awesome and shine thank you very much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-26
Updated: 2017-06-26
Packaged: 2018-07-26 20:08:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 18
Words: 13,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7588312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrinceNux/pseuds/PrinceNux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Again, the summary on WattPad is much more detailed and shine than this one. Curse character limit!</p><p>Anyway, here it is. More Mad Max fanfic because I have absolutely zero chill as an author. </p><p>Max is a widower of almost four years, having lost his wife and child to a head-on-collision with a drunk driver. He is pushing 31, and has managed to settle down in a relatively small city and works as a doctor at the local hospital. Everybody has gotten used to the fact that he doesn't talk much and grunts more often than not in response to others talking to him. Except for Capable. He talks to her. He loves that fiery red-headed nurse in his own way, and appreciates her company more than he'll ever be able to tell her.</p><p>Nux is a lovable 26 year old idiot race-car driver with ridiculously blue eyes and a permanent skull grin. Slit is his older brother, with even more grisly facial scars than Nux has. Slit owns a bakery called Shine Cakes; Furiosa, his eight year old daughter, named the bakery. </p><p>And, when Nux ends up at the hospital that Max works at, old memories and feelings resurface and Max wonders what the hell he's gotten himself into, though, truth be told, he kind of likes it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Weirdness_Unlimited](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Weirdness_Unlimited/gifts).



_ It’s dark….so dark. It’s all around him, everywhere, closing in. Tighter and tighter.  _

_ And then there’s a flash of light, headlights and the little blinking numbers on the radio. _

_ 6:30….6:30….6:30….6:30 _

_ And then, that, too, is gone, and there is nothing but the squeal of metal on metal. _

_ A scream pierces the darkness, and the scrabble of fingers on his arm. _

_ Nails rake down his bare skin, followed by blood. _

_ Another scream, and the feeling of bones crunching together and shattering in his knee and leg and foot. He’s all broken up. _

_ A little voices calls out to him, “….Max….dad….” _

_ Then there is pain and more blood and screaming and voices. Gruff and authoritative voices asking questions he can’t answer. _

_ All he can do is shake his head and say no over and over again, blood dripping out of his mouth and where is his baby where is his wife where are they where are they? _

 

Max jolts upright in bed, blankets twisted around his waist and sticking to his bare skin with sweat. Before he can stop it, a strangled whimper leaves his parched lips. 

Groaning, he rubs the sleep from his eyes, and is just about to check how long he has left to “sleep” when the alarm clock goes off.

The shrill alarm pierces his throbbing head, and Max throws the clock against the wall. 

 

The clock lands on the floor, plastic casing cracked and batteries popping out of the back.

“Shit,” Max says quietly, getting painfully out of bed and limping over to the wreckage.

Trying to kneel down to pick up the pieces, his bum knee protests, forcing him instead to bend over and scoop up the clock and batteries.

 

Setting the pieces on top of his dresser, he rummages in the drawers for clean clothes that are void of any rips or blood-colored stains.

Coming up partially successful with a black tee shirt and jeans with a hole in the knee, he grabs a button up and goes to shower.

 

His knee starts to throb, cutting his shower short, and he towels off in front of the mirror.

Once he’s dried off, and his hair is sticking up in semi-damp sikes, his eyes stray down to the thick scars on his ribs and stomach. 

Sighing, he says to his reflection, “you’re a damn patchwork, Rockatansky.” 

 

After running calloused and scarred fingers through his hair to flatten it down, he eases himself into his clothes before heading back out to the bedroom to put on his knee brace.

 

Strapping the thing on, he pulls on his Converse high tops and goes into the kitchen for breakfast. Meaning too much coffee and maybe a banana.

Max busies himself with making the coffee, and, upon finding that he has no bananas left, opts for oatmeal instead. 

 

While the water boils in a pot on the stove, Max sips his coffee out of a chipped mug and absentmindedly stirs the oats into the water when it is hot enough.

He makes too much oatmeal….because of course he does. Even after two years, it is hard getting used to only cooking for one. Not that he even does much cooking, or eating, for that matter. 

 

Shaking his head, he sets down the mug and takes the pot over to the sink, cursing when some of the water splashes onto his hands.

Leaving the pot to soak in the sink, he goes over to the table and stirs in too much milk and brown sugar into his oatmeal.

Whatever, he thinks. It tastes good. 

 

As the food slides down his throat and fills his hollow stomach with warmth, he sighs and resigns himself to the flashbacks clawing at his brain.

 

_ The hospital was so bright. The light hurt his eyes it hurt it hurt he hurt. Everything hurt. And where were they? Where were his wife and child? He needs them. Oh, god, he can’t do this without them.  _

_ There are more questions then, but he still can’t answer them. Everything feels soft and hazy, but through the clouds permeating his mind, Max hears words that stab into his heart and bring tears to his eyes. _

_ Words like “dead at the scene,” “nothing we could do,” “amazing that he even  _ survived _ the crash.” Oh, Max thinks. So that’s what happened. A crash. Yes, a crash. With skidding tires and screams and glass and a drunk driver, and then a flipped car and his leg and everything went away. _

 

_ Things didn’t stop after that, though. They just kept right on moving. _

_ There were casts -on his arm and leg, lots of stitches and cuts that gave way to thick ropes of scar tissue. And then there was the funeral, a joint one, because that was all Max could handle. Jesus Christ, he went to the funeral with crutches and a sling on his arm. It felt too soon. It was all moving too fast. Too much. Max wanted to crawl into the ground with his wife and child and just stay there next to them. _

 

_ But, no, he wasn’t allowed to give up. He had to keep moving. Had to keep moving. Because if he stopped, the flashbacks would suck him in and spit him out with alcohol on his breath and bruises that he didn’t remember getting.  _

 

_ And then there was therapy -physical and talk.  _

_ Max preffered the physical therapy, even though it hurt like a bitch, to the talk therapy.  _

_ Trauma and heartache seemed to have stolen his voice, reducing it to grunts and short, clipped sentences. Mostly, he was silent. It hurt to talk. Talking made it real. _

 

_ The physical therapist helped him get his arm up and working again, but his damn leg refused to cooperate. So, when Max was diagnosed with PTSD, an anxiety disorder, and mild depression, he got a leg brace, too.  _

 

By the time that the flashbacks let him go, Max realizes that if he doesn’t get moving now, he’s going to be late to work. Taking a last bite of the oatmeal, he leaves the bowl to soak in the sink, makes sure he has his phone and keys, shrugs on his leather jacket, and limps out to his old Volvo. 


	2. Chapter 2

Max drives to the hospital, staying only a few miles above the legal limit, and arrives just minutes before his shift begins. Parking in his designated spot -close to the entrance, but not a handicapped one, Max was  _ very _ adamant about that- he wonders how long his shift will be today. He’s pulled 12 and even 16 hour shifts, but that’s only because his bum knee can’t handle any longer. And, Capable -Cape to him- won’t let him stay clocked in until he’s a caffeinated zombie. 

 

Getting out of the car, he grabs his bag and heads into the hospital. 

 

Then, just as he is heading through the ER and up to the staff room, a gurney crashes into his knee. Max lets out a surprised grunt, but manages to steady himself quickly. 

Glancing up at the surprised paramedics, he tries not to think about how, last year, being hit by something, or even bumping into something, would have dropped him from the pain.

 

The paramedics, young men in the designated uniforms and black boots, apologize profusely, only stopping when Max shrugs it off and moves out of the way.

He only makes it a few steps before a hoarse voices calls out, “sorry, doc!”

 

Turning, Max makes eye contact with the man on the gurney.

The man, if he can even count as that since he looks so young, is a mess of blood and bruises, scars around his mouth stretching when he smiles at Max.

Nodding at the young man, Max turns to the paramedics, saying, “when you’re done with him, I’m gonna need that boot.”

 

Walking to the elevator banks, Max feels the heat rising in his face, wonders briefly if he is dying, before realizing that no, he isn’t dying, he’s  _ blushing _ .

 

Pushing the button and slumping against the elevator walls once the doors close, Max closes his eyes and whispers, “ _ shit _ .”


	3. Chapter 3

Max goes through his day, getting lost in the hustle and bustle of the hospital.

Around lunch time, his knee starts to throb, and he  _ just knows _ it’s going to bruise.

In the midst of a groan, Cape slides into the seat across from him, imitating his groan. Glancing up at the redhead, he offers a half-hearted smile and goes back to massaging the kinks out of his knee. 

 

Cape slides a paper cup of water and two aspirin across the table to him, nudging him with her foot until he looks up. 

Taking the pills, Max pops them into his mouth and chases them with the water.

Giving her a grateful smile, he rummages around in a pocket of his coat and produces a red velvet muffin, which he pushes across the table to Cape.

 

“Matches your hair,” he says gruffly.

Smiling broadly, the redhead peels off the plastic and bites into the muffin. 

Max watches her, having to fight the urge to lean over and wipe the crumbs from her mouth. His baby girl would have been three by now. Just starting to talk, and at that stage where nothing that wasn’t locked or tied down would be safe. 

 

His heart fills with a heavy sadness, and a flashback prickles at his consciousness.

Pushing the offending flashbacks away, he picks up his sandwich for something to do with his hands, and takes a bite. 

 

As far as hospital food goes, the sandwich isn’t bad. Taking another bite of the grilled cheese, Max realizes that the nicest food he eats is at work. At home, it’s mostly oatmeal, and once in awhile, he splurges and makes noodles of some kind. 

 

Before he can go farther into his loneliness and grief, Cape sets a chunk of the muffin on his plate. Looking up at her, Max feels another smile tugging at his lips in spite of himself.

 

“Thanks for the muffin, Max,” Cape says cheerfully.

He nods and bites into the muffin. It is sweet, almost too sweet coupled with the cream cheese icing on top. But, it is good.  _ Really _ good.

 

Max had bought the muffin yesterday at an old friends bakery, and saved it for Cape because he knew she liked sweet things, and her smile made his old heart feel a little bit lighter than it usually did. 


	4. Chapter 4

Finishing up his last round -a kid with a broken arm that insisted on holding Max’s hand while the bone was set and then plastered- Max makes his way up to the nurse’s station.

Leaning up against the counter to give his knee a bit of a break, he motions Cape over.

Sauntering up to the other side of the counter, she leans on it, crossing her arms, asking jokingly, “what’s your poison, Rockatansky?”

 

He huffs out a laugh, replies, “the room number of that weird pale kid that was brought in earlier. I need it.”

 

Cape raises an eyebrow, but to her credit she just rambles off the number without giving him any flack about the strange request. Nodding his thanks, he turns to walk away, but is stopped by Cape yelling after him, “I expect an explanation later, Max!”

 

Sighing, Max pulls a hand down his face in good-natured frustration before waving a hand over  his shoulder and escaping into the elevator. He stops by the staff room to grab an ice pack from the freezer for his knee, then makes his way to the young man’s room.

 

Stopping by the open door, he knocks gently on the wood.

After waiting a moment for an answer, he walks into the room and stops at the end of the bed to read the man’s chart. Because, even if he is off the clock, he is still a doctor, and looking at the chart gives him a good excuse to be in the room.

 

He flips through the papers, stopping on the diagnosis page. The man, whose name, according to the chart is Nux, was in a crash at the local racetrack, which ended in a broken arm, various cuts and bruises, a rather nasty gash on his forehead and….a broken toe. Talk about an anti-climax, Max thinks, then immediately kicks himself for thinking that. He’d seen the other men that come off the track, and this Nux guy got away really lucky with the minor injuries he sustained. 

 

Putting the chart back, Max turns his attention to Nux.

Nux is asleep, or knocked out from pain killers; the latter seeming more likely. Taking in how pale the young man looks against the white sheets, the green cast on his arm and bandages wrapped around his head contrasting starkly against his skin, Max wonders if that’s what he looked like after his car accident. Small and broken up.

 

“ _ Shut up _ ,” Max says harshly, then immediately goes rigid as Nux stirs on the bed. Thankfully, he just shifts on the bed, burrowing deeper under the blanket. 

Nodding in agreement, Max limps over to the closet set into the wall and pulls out two extra blankets. Going back over to the bed, he spreads out the blankets and lays them over the first one, being careful of Nux’s arm when he tucks in the edges. 

 

Satisfied, Max pulls up two cushioned chairs beside the bed, sits down in one, and props his leg up on the other. Holding the ice pack down on his knee, he roots around in his shoulder bag and pulling out a worn paperback, settles into the chair.

 

Max doesn’t know why he’s in Nux’s hospital room, why he got more blankets, or why he stayed. But, as he reads more of the book, he finds that he doesn’t care. 

It felt good to be of some use. And, being near another person who isn’t in immediate danger of dying, or drunkenly swearing at him while trying to hit him, is really quite comforting. Shrugging, Max goes back to his book. 

 


	5. Chapter 5

When a pair of hands lands on his shoulders, Max sits up in the chair, letting out a surprised grunt, and knocking his book onto the floor. Looking blearily around the room, Max realizes then that he fell asleep at some point. 

 

Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he looks up at the person standing beside him. Suddenly, the light is switched on, causing Max to wince and cover his face. When the spots have cleared from his vision, he recognizes the person instantly. It’s Slit: notorious owner of Shine Cakes, and one of Max’s few friends. 

 

Slit grins down at Max, the thick and deep scars at the corners of his mouth pulling upward and tightening with the motion. 

“Rockatansky!” he says loudly in greeting, reaching out a hand and pulling Max to his feet. “You keeping an eye on my idiot baby brother for me? How sweet of you!”

Rubbing his eyes again, Max looks between Slit and Nux -who seems to be stirring- noticing that yes, they do share a resemblance to each other. 

That’s when a memory hits him- of the three of them together as kids, Nux tagging along after Max and Slit, then quickly hiding when the brothers father would appear.

 

Rubbing a hand through his hair, Max says, “geez, I didn’t even recognize Nux when he first came in. Hadn’t seen him in years, and he was pretty beat up.”

 

“Like I said,” Slit replies, “my  _ idiot _ baby brother.”

Max nods, more in conformation than agreement, and suddenly remembers the massive crush he used to have on Nux when they were kids. Huh. Funny how stuff like that happens. What  _ isn’t  _ funny is the blush that he can feel creeping into his face.

 

Thankfully, Nux chooses that moment to fully wake up, saving Max any further embarrassment.


	6. Chapter 6

_ Slit and Max were drunk. Or, rather, Slit showed up at Max’s apartment completely sloshed, and when he started talking, Max started drinking. _

 

_ Sitting out on the back porch, watching the waist-high grass moving with the harsh winds of Autumn, Slit let out a long sigh before looking over at Max through heavy-lidded eyes, saying, “I killed him. But, you already knew that.” _

 

_ Max nodded, taking another sip of beer and rubbing his bum knee.  _

_ “Can’t say that I blame you, Joe was a bastard sonuvabitch.” _

_ God, two years had already passed, and his damn knee was still giving him grief. _

_ Maybe it would have been best if he had just went with his wife and baby girl, Max thought. _

 

_ Slit pulled him out of the painful thoughts by saying, “I just couldn’t let it go, ya know? Not after what he did to Nux’s face. I mean, when it happened, Nux was just a pup. He didn’t understand what the belt meant and why Joe would lock us in the closet for days at a time.” _

 

_ “Then I come home from school or whatever, and Nux is curled up on the porch, hands covering his face. He wasn’t even crying, just shaking and making this horrible moaning sound. So, I picked him up and pulled away his hands. God, it was horrible. His mouth was a mess of ragged skin and blood. See, Joe had gotten shit-faced, grabbed Nux, and cut the boy's mouth like a skeleton’s.” _

 

_ “That was the last straw. I could handle the abuse. I could handle the belt lashings and the kicks and punches. But, Nux, he was only ten, and already just skin and bones. Joe would have ended up killing him. And I wasn’t going to let that happen.” _

 

_ Slit paused, breathing raggedly, and took a long pull from his own beer.  _

_ “I got us out of there that night, spirited us away into the darkness. Then, once I had gotten Nux settled in a safe place, I went back to that bastard’s house, and, using a kitchen knife, I cut the brake lines in Joe’s car. It was beautiful. I felt this wave of anger and  _ freedom  _ wash over me. I saw only red. And I tasted it, too. Touching my face, I felt the deep gashes I had carved into either side of my mouth. I laughed, then. Long and loud, before escaping into the night.” _

 

_ Not knowing what else to do, Max reached over and put a tentative hand on Slit’s shoulder, giving it a squeeze and feeling the knotted cords of muscle under his fingers. _

_ Slit looked at Max, cracking a tired grin before continuing, “Joe died the next morning. The police came to get Nux and I, took us to the hospital where the bastard’s body was. Some nice nurses fixed up our faces, then a doctor came and asked me what I wanted done with the body. I told the doctor to burn it and then flush the ashes. The doc laughed, but quickly stopped when he realized I was serious.” _

 

_ “Nux and I were left alone for a few hours after that. The poor kid slept hard, and didn’t even wake up when the police came back to question me. They suspected foul-play, meaning I was their prime target, but the problem was, there were no prints on the car. So, I got off with absolutely nothing on my record. I would have told the truth, if prompted, but Joe wasn’t worth going to prison over.” _

 

_ The two young men lapsed into silence, neither knowing what else to say. _


	7. Chapter 7

Max blinks, coming back into the hospital room just as Slit elbows him, hard, in the ribs. Shooting the older man a glare, Slit holds up his hands in mock surrender, saying, “you left us for a little bit there, Maxy. I was worried.”

Panic bubbles up in Max’s chest. Had he really just been swept up in a flashback in public? Not just in public, but in front of a patient and old friends, no less. Shit. This isn’t good, Max thinks. Not good at all.

Feeling himself start to shake, Max quickly sits back down in his chair.  
Slit looks at him quizzically, opening his mouth to ask something, but is interrupted by Nux stretching and making a purely obscene noise.

The panic dissipates as an almost unfamiliar warmth floods Max’s face.  
Slit chuckles in amusement. Max glares at him.  
“Ya know, it’s really rude to talk about me like I’m not here,” Nux pouts.

“You were knocked out on painkillers!” Slit protests good-naturedly, reaching down and giving his brother a pat on the cheek. Nux sticks out his tongue and licks Slit’s hand.  
Max chuckles in spite of himself. He had almost forgotten how amusing the brothers were.

Glancing over at Max, Nux raises his good arm and waves at him.  
Feeling his face heat up even more, Max waves back and internally curses himself for turning into a blushing schoolgirl.

Of course, he’s going to have an existential crisis about this later -because, how is it that he hasn’t had feelings or even an attraction to anybody else since his wife passed, but Nux shows back up and suddenly he’s head over heels for him- but for now, he’s going to enjoy the attention, and that warm tingly feeling in his belly.

“Hey,” Nux asks Slit, “where’s Furi?”  
“She’s with Capable. Said that she wanted some ‘girl time,’ whatever that means,” Slit says, pretending to look affronted that his daughter wants to hang out with Cape.

  
Shit, Max thinks. Cape said that if he spent another all-nighter at the hospital, she would kill him. And, knowing her determination and motherly-instinct, she just might.  
Getting painfully to his feet, Max explains quickly, “Cape….er….Capable said that if I was here all night again, she’d kill me. So, I gotta go. Now.”

Nux waves again, and Max makes his way to the door.  
Just as he is leaving the room, Slit stops him with a hand on the shoulder and hands him Nux’s boot. Nodding in thanks, Max makes his escape.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if this reads like a bit of a filler chapter. I swear that's not what it totally is!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! And sooner than I thought I would be. Glory be, I am back!   
> I do apologize for the rather sudden hiatus, though I had no control over it. But, now that I have my new laptop and the creative juices are flowing and I can be one of those pretentious writers in a coffee shop with their laptop and drink, I am ready to go!

Once Max is in his car, thankfully not having been seen by Capable, he clutches the worn boot to his chest and leans his throbbing head against the cracked leather of the steering wheel. Wave after wave of ‘oh shit oh shit oh shit’ rolls over him. 

 

Max had been certain that, after he had married Jessie -may god rest her soul- his feelings for Nux had left. But, here he is, he thinks bitterly, having an anxiety attack over dormant feelings that had turned out not to be so dormant.

 

He feels sort of betrayed by his own heart and brain, and like he is letting Jessie down. She is always in the back of his mind. Jessie and their babe, both killed way too soon.

Sighing through his clenched teeth, Max sets the boot down on the passenger seat.

 

Massaging the ache out of his jaw, Max starts the car and lets out a startled yell when the headlights illuminate a rather annoyed looking Cape.

 

Switching off the lights, Max waits until Cape has set the boot on the dashboard and folded her long legs into the passenger seat before waving sheepishly at her.

“The hell, Rockatansky?” she asks, crossing her arms in annoyance.

 

Feeling heat rising in his face at being scolded by someone in their mid-twenties to his 31 years, Max shrugs helplessly.

 

“I was worried about the kid….about Nux. ‘Went to check on him, and I fell asleep,” he says, drawing his shoulders about around his ears in attempt to be smaller.

 

Sighing good-naturedly, Cape reaches over and pats him on the cheek, saying reassuringly, “I’m not mad at you, Max. I just worry about you sleeping in a chair, and how bad this is for your knee.”

 

This statement of such obvious and unabashed caring makes his stomach fill with a sort of curdling warmth that just further confuses him.

 

Dropping his shoulders and running a hand through his hair, Max turns to Cape and puts his hand on his shoulder.

Forcing himself to look her in the eyes, he says gruffly, “thank you, Capable.”

 

Noticeably perking up, Cape nods and exits the car, saying something that sounds like ‘go get him, tiger,’ before going back into the hospital.

 

With his breaths coming easier and less hurried, Max switches his headlights on and backs out of his parking space and into the world of a bright 6 am sunrise. 


	9. Chapter 9

Forgoing breakfast and a shower, Max drives straight to Slit’s bakery, Shine Cakes, for a coffee and motivation to grow a pair.

 

Pulling into the small parking lot at the back of the bakery, Max kills the engine and then just….sits there. His knee is aching worse than it has in a while, prompting him to kind of frantically search through the glovebox for pain pills. 

Aaaaand….no such luck. Of course.

 

Grimacing, he nearly falls out of the car and limps into the bakery.

 

When Max walks into the bakery, Slit greets him first with a look of surprise, and then with a finger to his pursed lips.

After Max cocks his head to the side questioningly, Slit gestures to a padded bench along one wall where Furiosa is sound asleep under a faded red comforter.

Nodding, Max reaches up and silences the bell above the door.

 

Wiping his floury hands on his apron, Slit comes around the counter and takes Max in.

“You look like shit,” he says matter-of-factly. 

Grunting in what could be either an affirmation or a ‘fuck you,’ Max allows himself to be led over to the counter. 

 

Slit pretends not to notice how stiffly Max walks, or how he flinches away from Slit’s touch at first.

 

Once Max is seated, Slit goes back around the counter to pour him a coffee.

Setting the coffee in front of Max, along with three aspirin, he crosses his arms over his chest and declares, “this is only the second time that you’ve visited me, Rockatansky. I must say that my feelings are hurt.”

 

“Been busy,” Max supplies gruffly, taking the three pills and chasing them with a healthy sized gulp of coffee. 

 

Snorting through his nose, Slit goes to the display case full of pastries and sandwiches.

Bending down, he asks, “what’s your poison?”

 

When Max doesn’t answer, he shakes his head and grabs a cheese danish.

Getting a plate, he sets the pastry down on it and plops the ensemble down in front of Max, who stares at it as if it may bite him.

Leaning his elbows on the countertop, Slit grabs the danish and takes a bite of it.

Sucking the filling off his fingers with obscene little *pops,* he grins at Max in a way that stretches the deep scars on either side of his mouth in a rather ghoulish way.

“See?” he says, “it’s a perfectly good pastry. Now eat up.”

 

Drinking the rest of his coffee, Max sets the mug down and hesitantly picks up the pastry. 

Bringing it first to his nose, he sniffs it, and Slit feels his grin morph into a smile when Max’s eyes widen at how sweet the danish smells.

 

Taking a big bite, Max closes his eyes reverently and breathes out, “glory be, that’s good.”

Slit nods in a ‘no-shit’ kind of agreement. 

 

“Furi helped me whip up a batch before she fell asleep,” Slit says, glowing with pride.

Max nods, finishing off the danish and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“‘s good. Really good.”

 

Nodding, Slit straightens up, rolling his neck and shoulders and, motioning for Max to follow him, walks over to where Furi is sleeping.

Sitting down on the bench, he gently pulls her into his lap and strokes her hair.

 

Max sinks down into an armchair next to the bench and watches the two.

The now Slit is so much different than the Slit that he grew up with.

It is sometimes hard for Max to connect the past and present into one person.

The young man in danger of drowning in his hurt and anger with the thick staples in his face from the self-inflicted Chelsea Smile has grown into a father that holds his little girl while she sleeps.

 

Right now, Max misses his wife and child more than ever.

 

Catching onto the silence enveloping Max like a cloud, Slit says, “so you’re in love with my brother then.”

This prompts a sort of choking noise from the other man, and a bark of a laugh from Slit.

Suddenly remembering the sleeping Furiosa, both men freeze. But the girl only sighs and burrows deeper into the blankets.

 

With color flooding his face, Max asks, “that obvious, is it?”

Slit nods.

Max curses under his breath.

 

Shrugging, Slit says, “he likes you, too, ya know. Though your deep-seeded self loathing probably doesn’t let you believe that.”

Max shakes his head, running a hand through his hair.

 

“You’re a looker, Rockatansky. Whether you like it or not. And my idiot baby brother loves you probably more than he loves cars and explosions,” Slit says.

 

Max opens his mouth to protest, but Slit stops him with a raised hand, saying, “get out of here and go get Nux’s damn boot fixed. The love in the air is making me sick.”

 

Nodding, Max stands up and walks to the door, and Slit notices with a sigh of relief that Max isn’t limping like he was when he came in.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back with an update! And I am so sorry that I didn't update for so long. Things just got away from me. But, I will try my hardest, and when time allows it, to update more frequently. Thank you all for your continued leaving of kudos, comments, and patience. You all rock, and the continued support makes this whole writing thing so much easier!
> 
> -Priestly

Back in his car, Max slumps in the driver's seat, running his tongue over his teeth.

The sugar and flaky dough ghosting over his tongue reminds him of being younger, when his damned knee still worked….and him and Nux were in love. 

 

Sitting back up, he starts his Volvo and briefly wonders about going back to his small and lonely home, but opts for finishing his errands before passing out for a few hours.

 

_ Max sat on the small bank overlooking the lake, though instead of admiring the scenery, he was look at Nux, who was curled up with knees to chest, shaking. _

 

_ Reaching out a hand, Max laid it on Nux’s shoulder. _

_ “What is it, my feral?” Max asked gently, giving the other boys shoulder a squeeze.  _

 

_ “Joe….that bastard smeg, he “taught” Slit and I to swim by nearly drowning us,” Nux ground out between ground teeth as he started to rock back and forth. _

_ Max feels more anger bloom in his chest for Nux and Slit’s dead father then, almost enough anger to bring the old man back and kill him with his own two hands. _

 

_ “Oh. Damn, I’m sorry,” Max said, “I didn’t know.” _

 

_ “At this point,” Nux replied, “I’ve got so many triggers even I don’t know what all of them are. So, I can’t expect you to know what they all are, either.” _

 

_ Nodding, more in resignation than agreement, Max stood up and gently pulled Nux up to stand beside him. _

 

_ “Let’s go get some cheeseburgers,” Max said, and let out a sigh of relief when Nux melted into his arms, allowing Max to lead him back to the car. _

 

“Max!” comes the small voice again, accompanied by a tap on the car window.

Startled out of the flashback, Max almost stomps down on the gas and rams his Volvo into the wall of the bakery.

Rubbing his eyes, Max looks over at the eight year old tapping on his window with a finger on her prosthetic hand.

 

Rolling down the window, Max greets the young girl as cheerfully as he can.

“Hey, Furi.”

Furi smiles back at him, except hers is a real beaming smile that makes his own stretch into something more genuine.

 

“Papa sent me out to give this to you. He said that you looked like you were dead on your feet and could use some more caffeine,” she says, handing him a can of Coke.

 

“Tell Slit I said thanks,” Max says, waving to Furi as she runs back into the bakery.

 

Sighing, he cracks open the Coke and pulls out of the parking lot. 


	11. Chapter 11

At the shoe/boot store, which Max tends to frequent more than he would like because of how many shoes he goes through being on his feet all day, the old man behind the counter is nice enough to not point out how exhausted and bedraggled Max looks.

 

After wandering up and down the aisles of footwear, holding Nux’s boot up to the ones on display and taking a few out of boxes to compare and finding none, Max resignedly limps up to the counter. The old man smiles at him, a genuine smile, partially hidden by his salt and pepper mustache. He has nice eyes. 

 

Max blinks, and cocks his head to the side, looking at the man questioningly.

“You looking for a friend for your boot?” the old man repeats, and Max nods, holding out the scuffed up boot.

 

Taking the proffered boot, the man looks it over, running skilled and calloused fingers over the cracked leather and duct tape, thick lines of dental floss stitching. 

“Looks like you’re gonna need a whole new pair, what with the state that this one’s in,” he says, and Max can only bring himself to nod because while he knows the old man is right, his eyesight is going blurry and he just wants to be home.

 

“Give me a minute to go root around in the back. I’m certain I have a pair like this one,” he says, walking into the back, then saying over his shoulder, “go ahead and sit down, boy. Looks like you need to take a load off.”

 

Nodding in agreement, Max sinks into the folding chair by the desk.

Stretching, he groans at the pops and cracks that emit from his knee, rubbing the offending appendage grumpily.

 

Then, just as Max is starting to nod off, the store clerk comes back and sets a shoebox on top of the counter. The  _ thunk  _ of box meeting wood has Max jumping to his feet and whirling to meet the man, heartbeat picking up before he remembers where he is.

 

Rubbing his eyes, he takes the lid off of the box and feels a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth because the boots -a proper pair- look just like Nux’s remaining boot.

Nodding his thanks, he asks sheepishly, “could you….ah, wrap them? They’re a gift….for a friend.”

 

Smiling back at him knowingly, the man asks, “have a particular paper in mind?”

“Got any with cars on it?” And damn it all, Max can feel his cheeks heating up when he asks that. 

 

Pulling out a ribbon matching the blue of Nux’s eyes, the man wraps the box in a flourish and presents it to him across the counter. Tucking it under his arm, Max pays and exits the store, feeling a little bit lighter than he had upon first entering the store.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here it is. Chapter 12 after way too many months of my not updating and being too busy/tired to break through my writer's block. But, now I'm back, and hopefully will be updating less sporadically from now on. For now, Monday's and Sunday's sound like good days to update, so we'll go with that. Thank you all for sticking by this story, and for not giving up on it, or me. It really means a lot. Ya'll are totally shine.

Max blinks, and he’s in the driveway of his lonely looking house that needs a fresh coat of paint, and the wooden planks of the faded porch need to be nailed back down; and dammit all, even the grass has grown to knee length. Grumbling to himself, Max manages to not completely fall out of his Volvo, and limps up the steps, too exhausted to notice that the door is unlocked and slumps against the wall once he is inside. 

 

“Was wondering when you were gonna get home, Rockatansky,” a voice says as a lamp is flicked on, and the light momentarily blinds Max when he jumps off the wall, present for Nux dropping to the ground. 

 

Pressing a hand to his chest, feeling the rapid beating of his heart, Max half-smiles sheepishly at Cape through his too long bangs as he painfully bends to pick up the gift.

“Wasn’t expecting you, Cape,” he says, limping over to the couch and slumping down beside her on the soft, worn cushions. 

 

Shrugging, the redhead bounces up and goes into the kitchen, where she starts to unpack brown paper bags that had definitely not been sitting on Max’s counter this morning. He watches her as she takes the groceries and puts them away, neatly folding up the bags as she goes. Feeling heat make its traitorous way up his neck and into his face, Max fishes in his jeans pocket for his wallet, and is about to get money to pay her back when Cape suddenly turns to him sharply and shakes her head. Holding up his hands in mock surrender, he goes back to watching her put away the food, and is too tired to try and keep his eyes open when his lids start to droop. 

 

\----

 

An hour later, Capable turns off the barely-used stovetop burner and dumps the macaroni with healthy amounts of tuna fish mixed in into two chipped bowls and brings them into the livingroom where Max is slumped over sideways on the couch.

Tsk’ing sympathetically, Capable taps Max on the shoulder until his eyes open into slits, and then goes about taking off his shoes and knee brace in a careful and practiced manner.

 

Stretching, and grunting when his back and knee pops, Max rubs the hours worth of sleep from his eyes and looks down at the bowl that Cape is currently holding under his nose.

Taking the bowl, he feels something besides hunger in his stomach as the redhead sits cross-legged on the couch and grins at him with cheese sticking to her chin.

Reaching over and wiping away the cheese with a napkin, Max feels the all too familiar pang of missing Jessie and his own pup, and what it would be like if they, too, had survived the car crash that cruelly spared him. 

 

Then, before he can fall headlong into the dark place of guilt and flashbacks, Cape nudges him and looks pointedly at the food that he has yet to eat.

“I don’t come over here just to cook for myself, Rockatansky,” Cape says, eyes softening as Max begins to eat the pseudo tuna casserole. 

 

After Max has finished the dishes that he had insisted on doing, even though Cape had stood in the kitchen the whole time in case his knee buckled, he goes back to the couch and sits down heavily on it. Bending down, Max rubs his knee ruefully, and nods thankfully at Cape when she hands him a glass of water and two painkillers. 

 

Capable keeps Max awake for another hour with talking a bit louder than she normally does and poking his face whenever he started to doze, before she gets up and gets the two sleeping pills that Max takes every night. 

 

Coming back into the living room with a fresh glass of water and two pills in hand, she sighs in a good-natured manner at the sight of Max, once again, slumped over on the couch. Prodding his into semi-consciousness, she gives him the pills and water and then helps him maneuver into a more comfortable position on the couch. Going and pulling the comforter off his bed, she covers him and locks the door on her way out, giving the present a knowing glance before closing the door behind her. 


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow! Here I am, after way too damn long, which I am very sorry about, with an update finally! Things got kind of time-consuming, and almost all of my time/inspiration has gone into school and writing assignments lately. But, I am going to try my very hardest to update more frequently, and actually follow my update schedule for once. And, thank you all for your continued support of me and my writing. It helps, and means, so much. Ya'll are the bees knees. (Also, sorry for the short AF chapter. It's kind of a filler before the juicy stuff gets going, and we all find out just how gay I can write Max without going out of character).

In the morning, Max wakes up on the floor of his livingroom, legs tangled in the comforter, soaked in sweat from a nightmare that he can’t remember. Stretching, he groans at the pops and cracks that emit from his tired body, and rolls over onto his stomach. Getting both arms and his left leg under him, Max gets stiffly to his feet and wonders when the hell he rolled off the couch, because it feels like he spent all night on the damn floor. 

 

Straightening up all the way and rubbing at his bum knee, Max makes his way to the bathroom, and stops momentarily in the kitchen to take his daily cocktail of medication. Once in the small-ish room, tiled floor cold against bare feet, he runs calloused hands through stubborn cowlick bedhead, brushes his teeth, shaves and cuts his face twice. 

 

Strapping on his brace, Max pulls on his shoes and grabs Nux’s present before he checks the time on his phone and he heads out the door, only mildly unsurprised that he managed to get up at the same time without an alarm. “Well,” he says to the empty house, “that’s one less alarm clock I have to buy,” and closes and locks the door behind him.

 

\----

 

Pulling into the parking spot close enough to the front entrance to be a handicap one, Max turns off the car and jumps in his seat when Capable knocks on the window. Stepping out, he gratefully takes the proffered cup of coffee and follows the redhead through the automatic double doors and into the staff break room.

 

Sitting down in a chair at one of the two round tables, Max watches as Cape goes to the fridge and removes two plastic cups before coming and sitting down next to him. Then, she sets a cup and spoon in front of him and herself before resting her chin on steepled fingers and looking at Max in such a way that heat begins to creep up his neck.

“So, I see you’ve gotten lover boy a present,” she says, and takes a bite of what Max has just realized is a breakfast parfait, before he has a chance to deny it. 

 

Max nods, shrugs, and turns a bright shade of pink, ducking his head and eating his own parfait before he opens his mouth and says something that will just prove Capable’s point. Because, when it comes down to it, even though he is a master at controlling his facial expressions to not give away emotion and communicating in mostly grunts, Max Rockatansky is like an open book to the redhead, and they both know it. 


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ha! I am super not dead. I just suck at updating on time, which is why I changed the updates from Monday and Sunday to SPORADIC. Because I suck. But, here you go. Have some gay. And why yes, Slit and Capable were betting on when the gay was going to happen between those two idiots. (I am also like super high right now, and my genius self decided to bring my laptop outside with me so I could smoke and write, and now I cannot feel my fingers.) Anyway, enjoy! And, I will try my absolute hardest to not go months between updates again.

A few days pass, and Max finds himself back in Nux’s hospital room, watching the few years younger man sleep and trying to convince himself that he isn’t being creepy. More than that, though, he is trying to convince himself that Capable and Slit are delusional and he has no left-over feelings for Nux. But, when he looks at the fact that there is a box with a new pair of Doc Martens wrapped up in paper with cars on it, under the chair he is currently slumped in, all of his arguments fall flat. Because, when faced with a truth so profound and obvious, even Max’s trauma and anxiety and guilt over maybe/maybe not betraying the memory of Jessie agree with him that he is well and truly infatuated. And, damn it all, he doesn’t mind it that much. 

 

Just as Max’s knee is starting to complain at him for not moving for so long, Nux stirs and blinks sleep-blurred eyes at Max, who can feel himself turning a bright shade of pink. Yawning and stretching, Nux winces at the twinge in his broken arm caused by the movement and reaches up to scratch at the bandages wrapped around his head. 

Leaning forward, Max takes Nux’s hand in his own. They stay like that for a few beats, before Max coughs and sits back in his chair. 

“Ah,” Max says, rubbing his hands together, “was in love with you, ya know.”

If at all possible, Nux turns a paler shade of white as his eyes fill with tears. 

 

_ It was Max’s Senior year in high school, and Nux’s Sophomore year, when everything that they had built up came crumbling down on top of them.  _

_ Max was getting more involved with self-defense classes and other course work that would enable him to get a jump start in college that would eventually land him in the town’s local police academy.  _

 

_ Nux was living in a small apartment with Slit, in the same complex that Max lived in. The brothers had moved into the complex after hopping around from place to place for a couple years after Slit had killed their father, Joe.  _

_ And, dammit, things were good. They really were. Max would sleep over most nights at the brother’s apartment, falling asleep curled up around Nux while Slit baked too many pastries for all of them to eat and kept an eye on the two.  _

 

_ Then, three months later, Max and Nux were laying on the floor of Nux’s room, passing back and forth a bottle of apple cider, Nux suddenly jumped to his feet and just stood there, glaring down at Max. “I  _ hate _ you,” Nux growled, the words dropping like venom.  _

 

_ Max laid on the ground for a few more seconds, feeling an incredulous laugh building in his chest, but when Nux kicked him in the knee hard enough to leave a week long limp, he was quickly on his feet as well. The two young men stood there then, facing each other, Nux already an inch taller than Max and twice as thin. Swallowing around the lump in his throat, Max reached out to put his hands on Nux’s shoulders, which is when his boyfriend punched him in the face.  _

 

_ Stumbling back, knee buckling under him, Max fell back against Nux’s unmade bed, clutching his throbbing eye. Then, before he could even right himself, the younger boy was delivering another swift kick to the same knee. With tears in his eyes, Nux yelled, “I said ‘I  _ hate _ you,’ now get the fuck out of my apartment!” _

 

_ Max goes then, grabbing his leather jacket off the floor and quickly leaving the bedroom. Sparing only a glance towards Slit, who was elbow deep in flour, Max shut the apartment door behind him and fled back to his own.  _

 

_ Then, when Nux wasn’t at school for two weeks, Max went over to their apartment. Knocking on the door, he jumped when it opened, but stepped inside anyway. The first thing he saw was, to his dismay, not the brothers, but a pile of fliers on the table advertising the apartment as being for sale.  _

 

_ Max didn’t bother to look through the rest of the apartment, because he already knew that it would be gutted of everything that made it Slit and Nux’s. They were gone. Nux was gone. And they had left without saying goodbye. _

 

A hand on Max’s arm snaps him out of the flashback. Blinking his eyes, he sees Nux slowly come into focus, who is kneeling on the edge of his hospital bed in order to move his good hand from Max’s arm to his face. He is still crying, tears rolling down his pale cheeks. Sniffing, he says quietly, “I was in love with you, too.”

 

Max makes a startled sound halfway between a laugh and a cough, reaching into his shirt and pulling out a plain silver ring on a leather cord. Holding it up between them, they watch as it spins and catches the light from the early-morning sun slipping in through the cracks in the blinds. Clearing his throat, Max says, “Jessie, ah, my wife, she used to ask me what this ring was. But, when I’d go quiet for days afterward, she didn’t ask anymore. But, I think she knew that it wasn’t for her, and that kind of killed me because I didn’t want to hurt her.”

 

Nux leans forward again, using his good arm to balance himself against Max’s shoulder, and nuzzling into the older man’s neck, replies, “I don’t think it hurt her as much as you thought it did, Max. You’ve just always had ridiculously low self esteem.” 

 

Huffing out a laugh, Max moves so that he is kind of holding Nux as he shuffles them around so that they’re both laying on the hospital bed. Nux makes a contented sleepy sound and curls up against his old flame, closing his eyes, falling back asleep in moments.

 

Max finds himself watching the younger man, again telling himself that he isn’t being creepy. Leaning down, he whispers in Nux’s ear, “gods, I’m  _ still _ in love with you.”

 

\----

 

A couple hours later, Slit and Capable stand in the hospital room's doorway, watching Max and Nux as they sleep, curled up around each other. “Mmmm, how sweet,” Slit says, turning to Capable and grinning widely, “you owe me five dollars.” 


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for being so patient with me while I took legit months to update this gay trash fic. Anyway, here's chapter 15! It's super gay and feelsy, and I am going to try my hardest to be more consistent about updates. And, as always, your continued support is much appreciated. Ya'll are hella chrome.

“So,” Max says the next morning as he sits down across from Capable in the employee breakroom, “a little bird told me that you and Slit bet on Nux and I.”

Capable turns almost as red as her hair, nodding and then quickly taking a bite out of her bagel in the hopes that she will not be questioned anymore. Max tucks into his breakfast, oatmeal with raisins that Slit had dropped off for him earlier. 

 

They sit in silence for the next few minutes until Max scrapes up the last of his oatmeal, and setting the spoon down in the bottom of the empty bowl, fixes a Capable with a quizzical stare. “It was Slit’s fault,” Capable says quickly, then claps her hands over her mouth. Max chuckles in response, but quiets as the redhead continues. “He came up with a bet, that if you and Nux engaged in “the gay,” before Nux was discharged, I owed him five dollars. Which I lost because you’re both like lovesick puppies around each other.”

 

It is Max’s turn to blush as he stands and taking their dishes, goes to the sink to wash them. Looking over his shoulder, he asks quietly, “it’s that obvious then?”

Capable nods again, a smile playing on her pink lips. But, when Max drops the bowls--plastic, thank the gods--and they clatter into the bottom of the sink, Capable is beside him in seconds, hand on his arm, concerned frown falling onto her face.

 

“Max,” she says, taking his shaking hands in her own, “what’s wrong?”

Taking a deep breath, he doesn’t answer but leans into her so his face is buried in her shoulder. “Oh,” she says, answering her own question. “You think that you’re somehow betraying the memory of Jessie and your sprog by falling in love with Nux. Is that it?”

 

Max huffs out what could be either a laugh or a sob and sags back against the sink. 

“It’s ridiculous, Cape. I know this,” he sighs, running nervous fingers through his hair, making his cowlick even more prominent. 

 

Reaching over and placing a hand on the older man’s cheek, Capable says cheerily, “well, then go get that gift for loverboy out of your locker and give it to him already!”

 

\----

 

Max knocks on the wood panelling of Nux’s hospital room door after doing his rounds. The sun is setting, his knee hurts more than a little bit, and his hands, holding the present, are shaking. Before Max can knock again, Slit looks up from the printed-off recipes he is paging through and waves him in. 

 

When Max sits down in the chair next to Slit, Nux smiles at him from where he’s very much letting Furiosa beat him at arm wrestling. Furiosa looks over at Max, waving at him with her prosthetic arm and declaring happily, “Uncle Nux and I are finally equal, Max!”

 

“Nux tells me that you’re a chronic cheater, Furi,” Slit says, not looking up from the recipes he’s reading over. Nux makes a protesting sound, reaching behind him with his good arm and grabbing a pillow to lob at his brother.  

 

Slit easily knocks the pillow out of the air, flipping to the next page with his free hand. Furiosa beats Nux at arm wrestling again, smiling up at her uncle, all innocence. Ruffling her hair, Nux looks over at Max, asking, “what’s in the box, Maxy?”

 

Max feels himself blushing at the nickname, coughs to clear his throat, looks down at the box resting on his lap. The wrapping paper is truly ridiculous, and he feels somewhat silly for choosing it now. Instead of trying to explain why he picked it, though, he sets the present on Nux’s lap. “It’s for you,” he says, and coughs again.

 

“You should get that fixed,” Slit remarks, setting down the recipes and watching Nux as he picks up the present. Max doesn’t say anything, and only hunches his shoulders as red continues to creep up his face. 

 

When Nux inhales sharply, he looks up in alarm, doctor instincts kicking in. Because, even though he may be kinda-sorta-really in love with Nux, he is still a patient. When his gaze comes to rest on the younger man, he gives a little sigh of relief because there have been no injuries added or aggravated. Nux has simply gotten the ankle-high, black Doc Marten’s out of the box and is looking at them in awe. And there might be tears in his eyes, but it could also just be the lighting.

 

Scooting closer, Nux puts a hand on Max’s knee--not his bad one--and kisses him full on the mouth. Max makes a startled sound, feeling the blood all rush to his face, creeping up even to his ears this time.

 

Slit laughs gently, scooping Furiosa up off the bed and throwing her over his shoulder. Then he claps Max on the back and exits the room. 

 

Once his brother’s footsteps fade away down the hall, Nux sits back, running fingers over his mouth in wonder. “I’ve wanted to do that since my gurney first ran into you a few days ago,” he says sheepishly. Max nods, not sure what to say. His tongue feels thick and useless in his mouth, and his lips tingle where Nux’s had pressed against them. 

 

That’s when a sharp jolt of guilt arcs up Max’s spine, making him bend almost double over the bed. Nux is suddenly beside him then, putting gentle and steady hands on his shoulders, pulling him gently back up and against his stomach. “I got you, Max. It’s okay,” he says, “it’s okay.”

 

Max nods quietly, feeling tears spill over and onto his cheeks. Nux guides him gently to his feet, and leads him to the bed. He sits down and pulls Max down next to him. Max lets himself be situated on the bed, leaning over and burying his face in Nux’s bony shoulder. 

 

He cries then, soaking the fabric of Nux’s flower-patterned hospital gown. And Nux lets him, not saying anything, just rubbing circles into the tense muscles of Max’s back like he is hoping to smooth out the turmoil inside of Max’s brain as well. 


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haaaaah, motivation to finish this fanfic, and then Stranger Things, has come in the form of seeing Wonder Woman over the weekend and falling headfirst into the fandom. I have two fics already brewing, and want to write them because I am in denial about the sad parts of the ending. So, yeah. Enjoy this update, and look forward to the next one sometime this month! Thank you all for sticking with this work. It really means a lot.

Max wakes up the next morning, having slept through the night, and almost has an immediate anxiety attack because he has absolutely no idea where the hell he is. His brain, running less frantically on a full period of uninterrupted unconsciousness, though, moves through a list of the things causing his anxiety in the time it takes for his heart to stop trying to beat its way out of his chest. 

 

Firstly, he’s not in his house. This is quickly followed by the realization that he is not in his bed, either. But he is in  _ somebody’s _ bed, if the arms wrapped around him are any testament to that. Okay, he thinks to himself, focus on the arms. There are two, thin and sinewy, and the cast on one is pressing into the side of his face. 

 

That’s when Max’s eyes snap open, and a startled sound leaves his mouth before he has time to stop it. The person holding him, who turns out to be Nux, looks down at him in concern. “Are you alright, my feral?” he asks, loosening his hold on the other man so he can sit up more. 

 

Max can only nod in response to the question, because if he opens his mouth, he will tell Nux that this is the most alright he has felt since Jessie and his child died.

He stretches then, almost relishing in the cracks and pops that come from his joints. In the middle of this, arms above his head, shirt riding up to expose a strip of skin, Max notices that he is not wearing his leg brace. 

 

“Ah….my brace. It’s not on,” Max says, turning to look at Nux. In turn, Nux looks down sheepishly, saying, “you fell asleep on me, so I took it off.” Max nods again, and almost makes a noise that would’ve only been described as a whimper when Nux gets out of bed and limps around it to pick up the knee brace.

 

Max loses all words then, when Nux comes back around and slips the brace onto Max’s bum knee with the utmost care. “Huh,” he says eloquently, swinging both legs over the side of the bed and pulling on his shoes. 

 

\----

 

Things go like this between them for the next two days. Max spends more time at the hospital than he does at home, much to Capable’s chagrin. But, he just looks so happy, and she can’t find it in her heart to scold him on that. God knows that Max has enough sadness to last him a lifetime. Maybe two. 

 

Then, on the third day, and the day before Nux is set to be discharged, he disappears. 

After finishing up his shift, which put a bit more strain on his bum knee than usual, Max had gone to Nux’s room to sit down and ice the offending appendage. But, when he reached the open door, the bed was empty, as well as the bathroom and any other place that a gangly 26 year old could have fit himself into.

 

Heart beating in his ears, stomach trying to work its way up his throat, Max moves as fast as the pain in his knee allows to the nurse’s station two floors down. Then, all but crashing into the counter, and startling the poor nurse doing paperwork, he manages to get out, “there’s a patient missing. Nux….the patient….he’s not in his room.”

 

The nurse sits up straight on her chair, and then disappears into the room tacked onto the station. She is back only moments later, with Capable in tow. Coming around the counter to put a hand on Max’s shoulder, she says, “he’d said something about going to the roof earlier. And I told him not to even think about it because it’s off limits to patients.”

 

Everything stops then, before kicking into overdrive that almost sends Max to his knees in panic. He barely manages to keep it together, though, instructing Capable to take the elevator while he takes the stairs to the roof. He brushes off her protestations of letting her climb the five flights instead because they both know the strain will be hell on him.

 

Max makes it up three flights on adrenaline alone, before his knee buckles and he ends up sprawled five steps away from the fourth floor. Groaning at the dull throb in his hands, and bruise already screaming onto the skin of his leg, he pushes himself up and keeps going. The only thing not allowing him to stay there is the fear of what Nux might be doing on the roof.

 

That’s why, when he bursts through the door onto the roof, and sees Nux standing way too close to the edge, the first thing to leave his mouth is a strangled cry of, “Nux!”

Capable comes up behind him then, pushing him gently forward from where his feet were trying to grow roots into the concrete. 

 

He only makes it a few wobbling steps forward before the younger man is wrapping solid arms around him, holding him while he almost shakes to pieces. 

“Max, what’s wrong?” Nux asks, going to sit down on the concrete. But, Max’s knee gives halfway through, and won’t bend.

 

Chuckling weakly, Max replies, “well, that’s certainly the bigger problem now.”

Nodding in what is very obviously confused agreement, Nux leads his friend over to the elevators, stepping in next to Capable, who has managed to get a wheelchair in the minutes it took for the two men to almost fully embrace.

 

Capable helps Max sit down, positioning his knee on the footrest struck straight out from the chair to support it without causing any further damage. She gets out on the next floor down, promising to meet them back in Nux’s room with ice and painkillers.

 

\----

 

Later, when Max is asleep on Nux’s hospital bed, knee propped up on a few pillows with a bag of ice secured to it, Capable leans over into Nux’s space and fixes him with a glare. 

When he looks over at her, hand still resting in Max’s tousled hair, she says sternly, “he thought you were going to jump, you idiot.” 

 

Nux sucks in a startled breath, hand moving down to rest on Max’s cheek. “I would never do that to Max,” he says quietly. He looks up at Capable then, tears brimming in his lashes, “I’m in love with him,” he finishes, fingers stroking the older man’s face.

 

“Yeah, that’s pretty obvious,” Capable agrees. Her voice drops then, taking on a more menacing tone that she only saves for the most difficult patients, “and if you hurt him, I swear to the gods that I’ll kill you.”

 

At the threat that isn’t veiled in the slightest, Nux chuckles, “I’d throw myself in front of your car's wheels myself if that ever happened.”

 

Capable brightens, leaning over to give Nux a peck on the cheek before she shoves him at the bed and leaves the room, switching off the light as she goes. 

Putting a hand to his face, Nux squeezes himself into the spot by Max, nestling into the hollow between the older man’s neck and collarbone and closing his eyes. 


	17. Chapter 17

Max wakes up the next morning with a start, the cold water seeping into the fabric of his jeans from the icepack duct-taped to his bum knee jolting him into consciousness. The bed is empty except for him, which makes his heartbeat pick up faster than it probably should. Flashing back to the incident last night, when Max thought Nux was going to jump off the roof of the hospital, the all too familiar tendrils of an attack start to tickle his brain. 

 

However, before he is sucked down into an anxiety attack, there’s a calloused hand clapping down onto his shoulder. He looks up then, into the deep facial scars and white teeth of none other than Slit. “Maxy,” he says, bending over to unwind the tape from the other man’s knee, “you have got it bad.”

 

“I don’t feel sick,” Max deadpans, knowing full-well what Slit means. Then, because anxiety is still niggling at his already pretty frayed nerves, he asks, “where’s Nux? He’s getting discharged today.”

 

Slit briefly looks up from where he is strapping on Max’s knee brace, and Max is about to ask when this became a thing, when Slit replies, “he’s down in the cafeteria with your friendly fiery redhead, eating breakfast.”

 

Max nods, taking Slit’s hand and hauling himself only semi-painfully to his feet. They make their way to the elevator, and Max marvels at how well-adjusted Slit is to being a father and not letting the demons of the past consume his almost every waking moment. 

 

Down in the cafeteria, Nux sits across from Capable and Furiosa, eating a sandwich that looks a bit too gourmet to have come from the hospital cafeteria. Not that he would ever say that, because the food from the caf is usually the fanciest and most tasty he ever eats.

 

Nux looks up from his sandwich, mayonnaise smeared on his cheek, and Max notices with something akin to delight that the bandage around his boy….his friend’s head is gone, replaced instead by little butterfly bandages. He looks so much better, back in his “civilian” clothes. God, Max thinks to himself, Nux is just good looking in general.

 

That’s when the heat starts to creep up his neck and into his face, making him want to curl up into himself. This very noticeable outward physical response to obvious attraction is thankfully pushed aside when Furiosa runs at him and jumps into his arms. 

 

He swings her around, momentarily picturing his own child as they would be now, at almost nine years old. After one rotation, he seamlessly sets Furiosa up on his shoulders, marveling how his knee, after the turmoil and trauma it endured yesterday, hasn’t buckled.

 

Nux stands then, coming over to them and nuzzling into the crook of Max’s neck. Capable snaps a picture from where she’s sitting, and Slit grins the widest he has so far. The older man is immensely happy for his idiot baby brother, and the broken man that is slowly being mended. 

 

Slit breaks the comfortable silence by asking, “so, Maxy. Furi and I are going to the beach for a few days, and I need someone to babysit Nux so doesn’t go getting himself killed on the track too soon.” Max looks him full in the face then, emotions skidding across his features before landing on one that could be only described as mildly incredulous. Nux has about the same expression on his face, too. 

 

“I don’t need a babysitter, Slut,” Nux retorts, petulantly using his old brother’s nickname from when they were kids. Slit only grins and whacks him upside the head.

 

Capable breaks what is starting to become kind of an awkward silence by saying, “Maxy here would love to babysit Nux.”

 

Max nods, bringing Furiosa down off his shoulders and setting her on the ground. He then grabs a napkin from off the table, dips it in a water glass and uses that to wipe the ketchup off of Nux’s cheek. The younger man turns bright red all the way to the tips of his ears, and then Max realizes what he’s just done. It really is ridiculous and annoying how little things like this have the ability to send him into a tailspin of guilt and flashbacks. 

 

It is now, however, any of the other adults that pull him back from the brink this time, but Furiosa as she grabs his hand, saying, “let’s go get Nux’s stuff from his room.” 

 

\----

 

A few hours later, after Capable all but forces Max to give up the rest of his shift and go home, he and Nux are laying on the couch. They’re not talking, but the silence is one of the most comfortable things that Max has ever felt. The two men are kind of draped over each other, with Nux resting his head on Max’s chest and Max running steady hands through Nux’s short black hair. 

 

It’s a domestic and comfortable scene, and Max thanks the gods that his knee isn’t acting up at all. In fact, none of the usual aches and pains, mental or physical, are present. There’s no guilt either, and Max finds himself thankful for that, that there is no lingering sense of letting Jessie down for having feelings for another person. 

 

As if reading his mind, Nux says drowsily, “there’s no shame in feeling things, my feral.”

Max hums appreciatively, burrowing deeper into the couch and his friend’s arms.

 

\----

 

Much later, after the two have eaten a largely improvised dinner of tuna melts and banana slices, Nux goes to take a shower. But, before he can, Max is grabbing his good hand and placing a plastic bag over his broken arm, securing it with duct tape. Nux smiles, Max’s stomach suddenly becomes home to a million butterflies, and the bathroom door closes.

 

\----

 

Nux comes out of the bathroom, hair spiked up, towel wrapped around his waist. Max cracks his eyes open, and is met with the massive tattoo of a V8 engine block on Nux’s chest. It’s an impressive, expansive piece, with hardly any bare skin left. Max finds that he wants to trace the design with his fingertips, imagines the sounds that Nux would make.

 

“Can I borrow a shirt?” Nux asks. “I usually only sleep in my boxers at home, but didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

 

Max nods, getting up from his bed and going to dig a semi-presentable short sleeve out of his dresser drawers. He hands Nux the shirt, trying not to make the fact that he is staring obvious when Nux turns around, stepping into his boxers and going to pull on the shirt.

When the towel drops, so does Max’s jaw, and his heart. Nux’s back is covered in deep, grooving scars, most of them obviously from a leather belt.

 

He takes a faltering step forward, pressing a hand to bare skin. Nux looks at Max over his shoulder, looking sheepish when Max withdraws his hand and goes to sit down on the bed.

“They don’t hurt anymore,” he says, sitting down beside Max. 

 

Max stands up, not knowing what to say to that, so he undresses down to his boxers and T-shirt as well, setting his knee brace on the bedside table before going and laying down.

“I’m sorry,” he says once Nux has lain down, too, on the side of the bed up against the wall. When Nux looks at him questioningly, Max says quietly, “I  should have killed Joe myself. Gods know I wanted to so many times.”

 

Turning over on his side to face Max, Nux reaches out a hand and strokes it over the couple days old stubble on Max’s face.  “You’ve nothing to apologize for, my feral,” he says. Max sighs, breath ghosting over Nux’s hand. They kiss then, slowly, like they have all the time in the world. Because, finally, they do. 


	18. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here we are, folks. At the end of My Feral. This fanfic, that I started on 7/26/2016, is now the size of a Novelette, at 13,334 words. And, I couldn't have done it without you guys. I know that sounds cheesy, and a bit cliche, but it's the truth. All the kudos and comments and encouragements are what enabled me to finish this piece, almost a year later on 6/26/2017. It's been a bumpy ride, with my going months without updating because I am apparently really bad at consistency. But, you guys never gave up on me, or this work, and that means so much to me. You all are totally shiny and chrome, and I am thankful for everyone of you.

Things go good then, for the ragtag group of friends. Nux gets the cast off his arm, and Max accompanies his boyfriend to physical therapy. Nux is continually amazed by how nice all the doctor’s and nurses are to him, and that makes Max want to go back and kill Joe himself so much it sometimes sets his teeth on edge. 

 

\----

 

Max goes to therapy appointments a few times each month, working through the guilt that still occasionally crops up over falling in love with someone else after Jessie. It doesn’t bother him that he’s dating a man, which he makes very clear to his therapist. He just has a lot of things to work through, and probably should have continued going to therapy, even after he’d been given a clean enough bill of mental health to go back to work.

 

\----

 

Max also gains two pounds, which Slit takes credit for, as does Nux, because the brothers are what Max endearingly refers to as “sugar pushers.” But, his ribs don’t stick out as much as they used to, and Max finds that he had not only missed actual breakfasts, but having someone to eat with, too.

 

\----

 

And then Slit gets arrested. It happens rather suddenly and takes everyone by surprise. Especially Max, who is woken up by his phone ringing and vibrating itself off the edge of his nightstand. Reaching over the edge of the bed, he gropes around for it and answers just as the screen is about to go black. “Hello?” he says, more question than anything, because not many people call him at three AM, unless its the hospital needing another doctor to be on staff for the rest of the night.

 

“Hey, Rockatansky,” Slit says, voice thickened by what sounds like a bloody nose. “I’m in a bit of trouble.”

 

Max sits up then, grateful that he had convinced Nux to sleep at the house he shared with Slit and Furiosa. “What kinda trouble?” he asks, sounding calmer than he feels.

 

However, when Slit sniffs and answers back, “I got arrested,” Max swears that his heart skips a beat.

 

“Why the hell did you get arrested?” he demands, wide awake and sitting on the edge of his bed, rubbing sleep from his eyes with a free hand.

 

“There’s been an apparent tip off into my father’s case.”

“Jesus fuck. Do you need me to post bail?”

 

“I don’t think so,” Slit replies. “There’s gonna be a detective brought in in a day or two to question me, and then I’ll most likely be let go.”

 

Max opens his mouth to say something, anything, but before he can, Slit is saying hurriedly, “I’m getting the signal to hang up now. Keep an eye on Furiosa and Nux, Max.”

 

The line goes dead then, and Max lays back down, knowing full well that he isn’t going to be getting any more sleep for the rest of the night.

 

\----

 

It is exactly three days before Slit is led out of his cell--orange jumpsuited and handcuffed--and down a network of halls to an interrogation room. The officers that escorted him there shove him none too gently into the room and close the door roughly behind him. 

 

Resisting the urge to stick his tongue out like a petulant child, Slit goes and sits down across from the detective. The man, who introduces himself only as Ace, wastes no time in diving into the interrogation. 

 

What catches Slit off guard though, is when the man asks him about Furiosa.

“Uh, what?” he asks, thinking he had misheard what the other man said.

 

“Furiosa Jobassa is your daughter, yes?” Ace repeats.

Slit nods, not knowing what else to say to a question like that. “And how old was she when you adopted her?”

 

“Furiosa was six months old, and already missing her arm. If that’s what you were going to ask next, sir.”

“A birth defect, right?”

“That is what it said in her file, yes. With no signs of foul play about the whole thing. My daughter is just missing an arm.”

 

“And, adopting a disabled child, you weren’t worried that you might….” Ace trails off, clearly uncomfortable with the question that he has to ask himself. 

 

“That I might turn out like my father,” Slit finishes, no question in his voice.

When Ace nods, Slit asks, “is it against regulation for you to un-handcuff me for a second? There’s something I want to show you.”

 

The detective obliges the request, and then watches in silence as Slit stands up and turns around before unzipping the jumpsuit and letting it fall down to around his waist. Looking at Ace over his shoulder, Slit says, “Nux, my little brother, his back looks a bit like mine, too. But it’s nowhere near as bad. And do you know why that is, detective?”

 

When the old man hasn’t answered the partially rhetorical question after a few beats, Slit pulls the jumpsuit back on and sits back down. “That’s because I stood up to my father,” he says quietly. “I wouldn’t let him touch Nux, and the only time Nux got hurt was when Joe would knock me out.”

 

“I can see you are very serious about protecting your daughter,” Ace says, writing in his spiral notebook. Slit nods, waiting in anticipation for the question that he knows will come.

 

“I just have one last question,” the detective says, “and it’s obvious that you know what it’s going to be.” When Slit nods, he continues, “did you, or did you not, kill your father?”

 

Slit sits up straighter, squaring his shoulders, answering, “no, sir. I did not kill my father. He was an abusive rat bastard, but I didn’t kill him.”

 

Ace writes some more in his notebook, before standing up and holding out his hand. Slit takes it, more out of politeness and formality than anything. Before he turns to go, Ace hands Slit a plastic baggie of ice. When Slit looks at the baggie in confusion, Ace clarifies, “it’s for your eye, son. You’ve got a pretty nasty shiner going on.”

 

Slit brings a hand up to his face then, discovering that his left eye is indeed swelled shut. He wonders why he didn’t notice, or remember how it happened, and looks to the detective for confirmation. “You got jumped by three men that assumedly knew your father. You put two of them in the hospital before the remaining man knocked you out. He’s in solitary,” Ace says. 

 

Slit nods, pressing the ice on to his eye. “When am I getting let out?” he asks.

 

“Tomorrow,” Ace says, turning to go and holding the door for the officers coming back to take Slit to his cell once again.

 

\----

 

Slit calls Max the next day, and then, after collecting his belongings, goes to wait on the front steps of the police station.

 

Max shows up in fifteen minutes, Nux, Furiosa, and Capable with him. Furiosa is the first one out of the car, running into her father’s arms. When she sees the shiner, the happiness in her eyes is replaced by righteous anger. Taking Slit’s face in her flesh and prosthetic hand, she says, in a mixture of anger and worry, “they hurt you, papa.”

 

Slit feels his heart simultaneously clench and fill with even more love for his daughter. Ruffling her short hair, he says, “it’s okay, my Furi. I’m okay.”

 

Satisfied by the answer, Furi leads Slit back to the car. Nux has maneuvered himself into the back seat, and Slit slides into the passenger seat beside Max.

Reaching over to put a hand on his friend's shoulder, Max says, “let’s get you home.”

 

Slit nods, leaning back in the seat and closing his eyes. 

 

\----

 

A couple months later, Slit calls Max again, early in the morning. This time, though, it is not because of something that has happened to him, but because of Nux.

When Max hears the words “Nux,” and “car crash,” in the same sentence, he swears that his world wobbles on its axis and almost stops altogether. 

 

Max is at the track in half an hour, having gone dangerously over the speed limit the whole way there. Upon arrival, he is out of the car so fast he doesn’t realize it’s raining until he skids in the mud and all but runs into Slit.

 

“What happened?” he asks, frantically looking around for Nux, but only seeing his boyfriend’s race car, flipped over with flames licking over the body. 

 

“The paramedics told me that he went around a turn too fast, and flipped over,” Slit says, looking even paler than he usually is.

 

“Where is he?” Max all but demands, and only calms the tiniest amount when Slit informs him that Nux has already been taken to the hospital.

 

They go back to the car then, and Max is almost pulled under by an anxiety attack when Slit slaps him, hard, across the face. “You say with me, Rockatansky,” he says gruffly, putting his car in drive and peeling out of the race track. 

 

\----

 

Hours later, Max and Slit are allowed into Nux’s hospital room to see him. Max’s heart clenches at how much worse his boyfriend looks than the first time he saw him after so many years. In the crash, or even maybe when the car flipped, Nux had rebroken his arm, his leg, and bruised up his face pretty badly. He looks small, and helpless. 

 

Slit sinks down into a chair by Nux’s bed, and almost immediately falls asleep, bent over with his chin on his chest.

 

Max stays awake, adrenaline singing through his veins. Almost an hour later, when his eyes are starting to become impossibly heavy, a hand reaches out to cup his cheek.

Eyes snapping open, he looks down at Nux, who smiles around the splits in his lip, saying quietly, “I sure am glad you became a doctor, my feral.”

 

Leaning down to kiss his boyfriends bandaged fingers, Max says, “so am I, Nux. So am I.”

 

The End


End file.
